dreaming

I have noticed that I appear to dream less on fieldwork, which is probably related to my level of tiredness. I more generally seem to dream less as I get older, passing, however, through phases where I sleep shakily and dream my anxiety.
In my new village, I sleep a lot at the moment. Romania is on a heat wave, and, due to some kind of flu, I am on antibiotics. When my feverish body temperature coincides with that of the environment, it is impossible to think, let alone to go out and meet people. Because my thoughts are so hazy, and my concentration patchy, I have a hard time following what they are saying, let alone participating in the conversation in a meaningful way. I had a nap in the afternoon to make it through the hottest hours of the day. On waking up I still remembered my dream, which has not happened in a long time. The visuality of this dream takes my breath away. How could I have dreamt this up if I could never paint it? I was in a car made only of windows with my family. We were on a beautiful journey through high mountainous lands in the clouds with the sun painting very stark colours, and long shadows, and, somewhat in contradiction, the landscape was made up of lush vegetation of fruit trees, flowers, bushes and age-old trees, haystacks, and little houses crowded in the valleys. You could almost taste this landscape. It was wonderful to drive the winding roads and see the shepherds. It was like the perfect idyll until someone said that my former clarinet teacher had a house down one of the roads. Picture: Isle of Skye, spring 2005